


Away With Me

by Avelera



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins fell at Ravenhill that day, or so the story goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Away With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous prompt on Tumblr, which I was challenged to make happy: "Sad prompt: Bilbo and Thorin dying hand in hand on Ravenhill"
> 
> Posting here rather than to Tumblr first because I'm tired of getting the comments split up :P

“Both gone,” Fili stated. “The matter of the Arkenstone’s theft and the promised gold must be put to rest with them.” The crown looked heavy upon his head, out of place save that the young dwarf wore it with grave dignity that belied his years. The members of what was once Thorin’s Company stood about him, two fewer than when they set out, forming a wall around their new king as they looked across the negotiating table at Thranduil, Bard, and their respective entourages.

“Who can confirm their story?” Thranduil said, eyes piercing as he looked about the room. “Oakenshield has much to answer for, and if you are hiding him…”

“I can,” Dwalin said gruffly. “Saw them march off, hand in hand to Ravenhill to face the Pale Orc. They went with him over the falls.”

“No body then,” Thranduil said scornfully. “And so no way in which we might confirm your tale.”

“You would question us in our hour of grief?” Kili shot back and beside Thranduil, Tauriel straightened with a grimace.

“Peace,” Bard said, quiet, and yet his words cut through the threat of mayhem, more king already than he would admit. “It does not matter. Our quarrel was with Oakenshield, and he has passed. I regret that the Halfling fell with him, but many lives ended this day. Now is not the time for blame, and I for one am sick to death of fighting. Let it end here.”

There was nothing even the most proud of Elven kings could say to that, no point to furthering the quarrel with the dwarves, who wore their misery at the death of their king like armor, and refused to speak further on his loss, or that of the Halfling. There was a new kingdom to attend to, and a new king to tend it, young and free of all past burdens. Even he could admit there was nowhere to go but forward.

* * *

There is a conversation one must have at the top of the world, when the blood is pounding in the ears and a dead orc lies still upon the ice, gaze turned toward the sky in a permanent expression of surprise, forever caught unawares by an invisible opponent sneaking up from behind. Something that must be said when the only sound is one's own harsh breathing as one stares across a cooling corpse, and there is nothing more to be done. The fighting was over, with the arrival of the Eagles, the Goblin armies were put to rout and there would be no time to descend from Ravenhill to lend aid before they were gone.

It was in their eyes, so many word waiting that it was exhausting to even contemplate them, as labored breathing quieted and the cold began to seep in behind the heat of battle, fury leached away by the calm, and the stillness, the sound of fighting too distant to be more than a whisper on the wind. What now?

“Here, you’re bleeding, let me…” Bilbo said and pulled, of all things, a dingy handkerchief from his pocket. He searched around, and found a few chunks of ice chipped free by the fight, wrapping them in the cloth. He inched over to press the cold compress against the wound on Thorin’s forehead. The dwarf’s eyes were unfocused as Bilbo worked, dabbing around the wound, and if it stung Thorin gave no indication, only stared out over the edge of the falls.

Then Thorin’s breath left him in a rush and he gave a shudder from head to toe, dislodging Bilbo who fell back onto his knees.

“I should have died,” Thorin rasped. He struggled to his feet and swayed, a red imprint appearing under his foot and at the splash of color Bilbo jolted and started up. He reached for Thorin, and hesitated only an inch away, pulling back.

“Stop. Thorin, you’re injured, you need to lie back,” Bilbo said, fingers clenching and unclenching, but that distance between them remained.

Thorin shook his head and looked back, expression dazed. “That blade would have run me through. It was the only way to hold him in place long enough, the only way to end it…. What have you done?”

“The same that you would have done for me,” Bilbo swallowed. “I’m certain.”

Thorin’s expression, so distant, as if he looked beyond the world to something unseen, snapped back and became wild as he looked at Bilbo. “How can you be? For my words and deeds at the gate, I nearly… I could have…” What little color that was left beneath the grime on Thorin’s face drained and he swayed, looked sick, and it was the last straw for Bilbo who rounded on Thorin, and took his broader shoulders in hand with a light shake.

“All right, time to sit, before I am forced to take drastic action,” Bilbo said, and Thorin barely resisted as the hobbit steered him away from the corpse and that dreadful ice (which he did not fully trust after seeing Azog burst through it) and guided Thorin to one of the stone steps on the bank of the frozen river. He could feel Thorin shivering beneath his hand.

There was nothing for it, no blanket at hand and he did not dare remove Thorin’s boots or belt, for all he knew it was the only thing keeping Thorin’s insides where they belonged. Yet as far as he could tell from a quick inspection there was only the injury on Thorin’s foot, some bruising, and the cut across his forehead that looked worse than it was, a thin slice that did not reach the bone. Still, it could not be good for Thorin to see the corpse of Azog lying still on the ice, after all the creature had haunted Thorin and his family for years. So Bilbo maneuvered himself between Thorin and the sight, pressing his own cold hand to Thorin’s cheek to guide his eyes away.

“How are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere? It may be a while before we can get any sort of healer up here, so we might as well get comfortable…” Bilbo knew he was rambling, but the frizziness of nerves was only catching up to him. He had awoken from the goblin mace to the skull just in time to see Thorin wandering the ice, and that _thing_ break free like a creature from nightmare, pinning Thorin to the ground. The rest was a blur, slipping on the ring, charging forward, driving Sting up into the back of Azog, into its heart just when it seemed Thorin’s strength would give out. A few seconds more, and…

It did not bear thinking.

“I should have fallen. I was _meant_ to fall,” Thorin muttered under his breath, gaze focused down at his hands, bruised and bloodied and Bilbo clucked in annoyance and used the handkerchief damp from the ice to begin dabbing at the blood there as well.

“What nonsense,” Bilbo said as he worked.

“You do not understand,” Thorin said, and pulled his hands free of Bilbo’s ministrations only to grab Bilbo’s hand, pulling his gaze upward. “My people will suffer for this.”

“I’m sure they will be overjoyed to see you well, and that Azog is dead. Frankly, I don’t see how this is anything but the best of both worlds,” Bilbo said.

“No, he’s right,” came a gruff voice and Bilbo looked up to see Dwalin at the top of the staircase. The dwarf looked to be in only slightly better shape than Thorin, and his each footfall thudded heavy with exhaustion as he steps to their side. “Thorin, we have to get ye out.”

“Where are my nephews?” Thorin said, voice hoarse and weary, his shoulders sagging as he looked up at Dwalin.

“I got them before they made it to the tower, they didn’t see ye challenge the beast,” Dwalin said.

“Good,” Thorin whispered.

“Wait, what is this? Why does Thorin have to leave? We won!” Bilbo exclaimed.

Dwalin gave him a look that could almost be described as pity, but before he could speak, Thorin cut him off. “I have broken oaths, sullied the good name of Erebor, and betrayed our allies. It will make the rebuilding all but impossible if I am king.”

Bilbo stared, looking back and forth incredulously between the two dwarves. “But you were ill! Anyone with an ounce of sense could see it, we have a dozen witnesses! No one can expect you to be held accountable for that.”

“Our laws can. The treaties can,” Dwalin said and Thorin’s gaze dropped as Bilbo gaped.

“My only choice is exile,” Thorin murmured.

“But under the cover of battle we can make a hero o’ him,” Dwalin added, and Bilbo saw the first glimpse of any emotion besides blankness on Thorin’s face as the corner of his lip turned up in a tired smile.

“You can save the reputation of the Company,” Thorin corrected. “If I were to die in the course of fixing my mistakes.”

“No, no, no!” Bilbo pushed forward, stepping between Dwalin and Thorin with his arms outstretched. “If you lay one finger on Thorin—!”

Dwalin barked a laugh, exchanging a look with Thorin. “Give us a little more credit than that, burglar. We’re not going to kill him, we just have to be careful than no one sees him go.”

“Go where?” Bilbo shot back. “Are you going to turn him out the door, penniless, alone, while he’s still _wounded,_ for goodness' sake? After all he’s done for you?” Thorin stirred behind him, but Bilbo ignored it, looking up at Dwalin with his jaw clenched.

“We’ll see him mended,” Dwalin said, the first hint of sympathy in his gaze as he looked down at the hobbit. “And we’ll know he is well. I’ll join him, soon as I can. But aye, Master Baggins, he would go alone. There’s no need to fret yourself over it though, Thorin is the strongest dwarf I know. He’ll be fine.”

“ _No_. I’m going with him.”

Bilbo started, shocked at his own words, at the vehemence with which they emerged, but stiffened in the face of it, raising his chin. “Tell them we both fell.”

“Bilbo, there is no need…” Thorin said from behind him but Bilbo shushed him with a finger, still glaring at Dwalin.

“I’ll go with him. It’s better for all of us. You can give my share to the Men, and remove the question of the Arkenstone. Which, I still stole by the way, Thorin, lest you should forget, I still have a few of apologies to make to you in return.” He turned back to Dwalin. “You know it is the best option.”

Dwalin settled back on his heels and crossed his arms, sucking at his teeth as he looked at Bilbo as if he presented some heretofore unknown puzzle. Then he nodded. “Aye, it would. Hadn’t gotten that far yet, but ye always were a quick one.”

“Master Baggins has nothing to apologize for,” Thorin said, voice stronger than before, with an echo of its old power.

“Not to you, mayhap, but to the new king? To Erebor? He can’t stay in the city, that’s for damn certain. Admit it, Thorin, if he wants to go with ye, this is the best option,” Dwalin said.

“He does not deserve exile, he has done nothing wrong,” Thorin protested. “He deserves the honors which he has earned, a place in the city—”

“To do what, Thorin? Become a miner?” Bilbo scoffed. “I would have been heading home soon after this anyway. Or perhaps further south, who knows? I’ve gotten something of a taste for adventure when not being chased by orcs. Which I imagine there will be fewer of after the number you all took out here.”

Dwalin laughed at this but Thorin only looked up at Bilbo, stunned. Slowly Bilbo reached out his hand to Thorin’s and as if under an equal spell, uncertain and unspoken, Thorin took it. Bilbo tightened his fingers, pulling gently at Thorin’s wounded hands.

“Come away with me,” was all Bilbo said.

* * *

“And so in reviewing the case of the late King Thorin, we have determined that whatever crimes committed were fully redeemed by his act of valor in defeating the goblin Azog, and that the same can be said for Master Baggins,” Fili said to the assembled lords.

Thranduil gave a very un-elvish snort of disbelief. “As if there was any doubt that you would flout your laws in order to give undeserved honors to your fallen lord, whatever his madness.”

“What does it matter, if he is dead? Nothing is lost by our forgiveness,” Fili shot back. The only difference from that first meeting in the wake of the battle was that Tauriel now stood at her betrothed’s side, and the rough tent was now exchanged for the restored halls of Dale, deemed a neutral spot as the many regional powers worked out the seemingly endless negotiations that would secure longterm peace.

Thranduil looked back, his face betraying little emotion when finally he looked back down at the contract before him and said, “Very well, if it brings you comfort then there is no harm. He will be forgotten within a few centuries in any case.” He hesitated, quill hovering above the line where he was to affix his signature, an agreement that no further action would be taken regarding the Battle of Five Armies, putting the last ghosts of the conflict to rest. “If this also clears the name of the _periain,_  the Halfling,that traveled with you, then I am glad. He was fair in his dealings, for all that he stole from my court. His loss was one of many tragedies of that dark day.”

“Agreed,” Fili said, and surreptitiously jabbed Dwalin in the side while Thranduil’s gaze was still pointed downward, wiping the grin visible beneath Dwalin’s beard before the Elvenking could look up. “So, on to our next business. The trade routes between our kingdoms…”

* * *

News traveled slowly between the kingdom of Erebor and the sleepy, out of the way villages of the Shire. As such the events that would ring through the Erebor for a hundred years made very little impact outside for many decades, and likewise when rumors came out of the the Shire they were only treated as tales and strange fancies. After all, the dwarves of Erebor knew that Master Baggins had fallen in defense of their home, and so whatever tales that traveled East of how a hobbit stormed his old village with a strange dwarf in tow were met by scoffing and disbelief. Of course many wished that the Battle had a happier outcome, but there was no need to prod old wounds.

So the dwarves were never treated to the further tales of Bilbo Baggins. Of how he returned home after many years abroad to find his home long auctioned and the Sackville-Bagginses living inside, or how he and his mysterious partner put some considerable skill at intimidation to work in retrieving his old home, and all its furniture, scouring the new owners  from the premises. The dwarves of Erebor certainly would care nothing for the many months it took these two to return Bag End to its familiar glory. After all, this tale was undoubtedly a cruel joke played on their emotions at the burglar’s loss, just as how the tales of the former members of Thorin’s Company visiting this upstart pretender regularly in the years to come were not to be believed.

Eventually, many years later, a portion of the truth would come out, to the good-natured disbelief of all. Master Baggins wrote in his book the details of his cunning escape, how he had been merely knocked unconscious during the battle and slipped away in the ensuing confusion, staying only long enough to witness the final words of the late Thorin Oakenshield.

Very few would put this together with the dark-haired dwarf seen at times reading under the great oak at Bag End, or the second pair of smoke rings that were sometimes seen drifting over the hills of the Shire, caught up and away by the breeze.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! There is some simply gorgeous fanart for this fic which you must see. You can find it [here](http://avelera.tumblr.com/post/142767818610/saraduvall-both-thorin-oakenshield-and-bilbo). 
> 
> If you have a moment, comments really are the light of my life and I would love to hear your thoughts ^_^


End file.
